


Explain the Rules Again

by harper_m



Category: Murder in Suburbia (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harper_m/pseuds/harper_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To sum, it’s mostly sex. Ash gets jealous, and it's all sex from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explain the Rules Again

**Author's Note:**

> I had written this in to my fic A Slight Obfuscation of the Truth but it didn’t fit. So, I excised it and reworked it.

As soon as the door to her flat was shut tightly behind them, Ash rounded on Scribbs, face dark with fury.

“Was that fun for you?” she asked, the words more of a sibilant hiss than a fully formed sentence.

Scribbs winced. Ash hadn’t spoken to her since she’d revealed that she’d gotten Clive Fraser’s phone number. All she’d gotten was a glare and stony silence, and the longer it had stretched, the more anxious Scribbs had become.

“Well, it wasn’t like I asked him for it, now was it?” she protested, back against the hard wood of Ash’s front door. Ash was inches away, their slight height difference apparently magnified as Ash seemed to loom over her.

“Oh, you asked him for anything he’d like to give you,” Ash said bitterly, slamming a palm against the door alongside Scribbs’ head, the loud pop echoing in the otherwise silent flat. “You bloody well virtually shagged him there in the interrogation room.”

“I did no such thing,” Scribbs said heatedly, straightening her shoulders in an attempt to feel less cowed. “This is all in your head.”

Ash’s eyes narrowed and her voice stung with accusation. “You were flirting with him.”

“I flirt with all sorts of blokes. It’s instinctual. Doesn’t mean I mean it.”

“With me standing right there,” Ash continued, as if Scribbs hadn’t even spoken. “Hearing every simper. Seeing every little coy smile.”

“I didn’t realize you’d get so upset over nothing,” Scribbs snapped. “You turned into a right harpy with him, all that scowling and snapping.”

“Don’t try to turn this back on me.”

“There’s nothing to turn on anyone.” Scribbs sighed, exasperated. “I was just having a bit of fun. You can’t actually think I was seriously interested in him, can you?”

“Can’t I?” Ash challenged. “You do it all the time. Two months ago it was that married man. Today it was Frasier. Every day it’s Sullivan. Last week it was a deliveryman, and the week before, our bloody waiter. It’s always someone, and you’re always there, batting your eyes and smiling sweetly, and I’ve had it.”

“What do you mean, you’ve had it?” Scribbs asked cautiously, suddenly panic stricken.

Ash’s brows slamming down into a stern line. “I mean I’ve had it.”

“Ash,” Scribbs began nervously, cajolingly, reaching out to draw Ash into a hug and hoping to break through her anger, “surely you don’t mean…”

A firm hand on her sternum pushed Scribbs back into the door. Scowling herself now, Scribbs pushed off of the hard surface, starting forward again only to be unceremoniously returned to her original position. Ash looked positively furious, eyes glittering dangerously, and Scribbs couldn’t help it. She inhaled sharply, raggedly, her own eyes darkening rapidly until they were unfathomable, inky pools.

Ash watched, and felt herself grow even angrier. “You’re aroused?” she snapped, leaning closer, watching Scribbs carefully. “You find this exciting?”

In reply, Scribbs darted forward, one hand wrapping around the back of Ash’s neck as she brought their lips together roughly.

Ash’s hand again found her sternum, pushing her back against the door with an oomph.

“Oh, no,” Ash vowed, voice incredulous. She shook her head in disgust. But, Scribbs couldn’t keep her eyes from the slight sheen of wetness on Ash's lips and she pressed forward again, intent on continuing what she’d just barely been allowed to start, only to find herself held tightly in place. “That’s not the way this is going to go.”

Very deliberately, Ash wrapped her free hand around Scribbs’ wrist and brought it above her head. Palm flattening out against Scribbs’, she pressed it against the wood of the door, holding it there. She watched Scribbs for a moment, eyes narrowed in warning, before slowly removing the hand at Scribbs’ chest. And even though Scribbs wanted desperately to press forward again, the severe penalty promised by Ash’s glare kept her in place.

When her other hand was pressed hard against the door, Scribbs couldn’t help the helpless whimper that escaped her throat. “Kate,” she said, the name a clear plea.

“Quiet,” Ash said sternly, jaw clenching. She took a step forward, pressing her body into Scribbs’, her thigh insinuating itself between Scribbs' legs and pressing upward. It drew a surprised hiss of pleasure from Scribbs. “I think it’s time I made a few things clear.”

Scribbs shivered as Ash’s eyes darkened, as her brows lowered and her lip curled up in a snarl.

“A bit of light flirting is to be expected, and I’ve no problem with that. It is, after all, one of your main modes of interaction. However, blatant flirting, blatant attempts to pull, especially when made while I’m standing there alongside you, are unconscionable. I will not tolerate it. And you will not accept numbers from strange men – or women, for that matter – or else you’ll find this relationship at an end.”

Again, Scribbs tried to appeal to the softer side of Ash. “Kate, I wasn’t…”

“No,” Ash snapped, interrupting Scribbs before she could attempt an explanation or evasion. “Think about it, Emma… Treat me like that again, and the next time I do this, it will be with someone else.”

The threat, tinged with the intimacy of her growled given name, caused a curious jumping in Scribbs’ belly – a combination of excitement and true fear that rolled itself up into deeper arousal. Then Ash was kissing her angrily, the pressure hard enough to bruise, and Scribbs surged back into her enthusiastically, wanting more.

The hands against hers slid down to her wrists, tightened, and pulled roughly so that her arms were by her sides again, and Scribbs felt her jacket being pushed from her shoulders. She wiggled in assistance, but the movements were silenced into submission by the hard pressure of Ash’s hands against her upper arms. Deciding to go with it for a moment, she allowed Ash to jerk the sleeves of her jacket free of her arms. It landed to the side with a thump, and Scribbs soon found her arms once again over her head, pressed back into the hard wood of the door.

“Don’t move,” Ash hissed, pulling back, iron grip leaving Scribbs’ wrists. Her fingers traced a path down Scribbs’ arms, earning a moan, and further down her torso to find the hems of her layered shirts. Dark eyes watching Scribbs intently, Ash pushed the twin tops up, nails scraping along Scribbs' skin as she drew them free. She didn’t bother with her bra, simply slid her hand into the sheer layer of silk and pulled Scribbs’ breast free, immediately taking a hard nipple into the wet heat of her mouth.

With a groan, one of Scribbs’ hands slid down the wood of the door to wind into Ash’s hair, getting tangled in the elaborate bun. She received a stinging bite in response before her hand was unceremoniously removed and slammed back into place.

“Don’t move,” Ash said again, the words sharply enunciated and acrimonious. And then her hand slid down to the curve of Scribbs’ ass, pulling Scribbs' hips into hers with surprising strength as her lips and tongue once again returned to their self-appointed task.

For once, Scribbs tried desperately to obey one of Ash’s directives. She closed her eyes and attempted to keep the majority of her moans, gasps, whimpers and cries behind her teeth as Ash moved first to her other breast, soon leaving its nipple as red and swollen as the other, before moving up to her neck. Short nails were digging into her – her hips, her back, the nape of her neck – and Scribbs wanted desperately to thrust herself against the strong thigh pushing up between her legs, pinning her in place, but she was afraid that if she did, Ash might stop completely. So instead she clenched her hands into fists, pressed them back against the hard wood of the door as if they were glued there, and focused on keeping her knees from buckling.

“That’s better,” Ash muttered, fingers jerking forcefully at the button on Scribbs’ jeans. It came undone with a pop, and soon the zipper was pushed down as well, the front of her jeans sagging open in a vee. A hand on each hip pulled the skin-tight fabric down, getting it as far as mid-thigh before Ash abandoned the task entirely.

She kissed Scribbs possessively again, tongue bold as her fingers tightened on Scribbs' hips. And then suddenly Ash pulled away; a quick move sent Scribbs spinning, stumbling, so that she was facing the door, cheek pressed against the cool wood. A splayed hand on her belly canted her hips back, and Scribbs found herself with her hands pressed hard against the wood, hair brushing against the door as her head dropped. Quick fingers undid the clasp of her bra, leaving her back a smooth expanse of naked, vulnerable skin. It slid down her arms, and she shook it free, chest heaving with excitement. There was the slightest wisp of cool air against her back and then she felt nothing but warm, naked skin as Ash pressed into her, having somehow divested herself of her jacket and clothes. Ash’s arm was wrapped around her midsection, her fingers finding and attacking Scribbs’ clit, and Scribbs bucked.

“Fuck, Ash. Kate,” she cried, one hand leaving her perch to flail blindly behind her, short nails digging sharply into Ash's thigh. Ash’s other arm came up to wrap around her chest, fingers digging into the curve where Scribbs’ neck met her shoulder, pulling their bodies flush.

“Tell me, Emma,” Ash said, the words hot against Scribbs’ ear, the name somehow a biting insult, “is that what you want? Do you want the next time I do this to be with someone else?”

“God, no,” Scribbs moaned, head falling back so that it was resting on Ash’s shoulder. Her cheek brushed Ash's. Her other hand left the supportive comfort of the door, winding into Ash’s thick hair once again, any warnings to the contrary lost in the face of her need to touch the other woman. “Please, no.”

Ash felt sweat form between them, no way to tell where it started, though the tickle of it running down the curve of Scribbs’ spine made the muscles of her abdomen jump. Scribbs was wriggling against her in the most distracting way, the firm roundness of her ass rolling back against Ash’s hips in a rhythm that nearly pulled her mind off-course. So instead, with a low growl, she wrapped her arms around Scribbs even more tightly, bodies nearly melding together. Her fingers moved faster, pressing hard and earning a rising crescendo of desperate cries, and then Scribbs was convulsing, fingers tightening their hold on Ash’s thigh in a grip destined to leave a perfect set of bruises. In response, Ash sunk her teeth into the back of Scribbs’ neck.

After an indeterminable stretch of time, Ash slowed her movements, waited patiently as Scribbs shivered through the last of her orgasm, then removed the arm across her chest. Her hand snuck between them, running up the length of Scribbs’ spine to the nape of her neck where it applied steady downward pressure, separating Scribbs from her so that she once again had to brace her hands against the wood of the door. Her other hand slid from between Scribbs’ legs and hooked onto the waistband of the jeans still stranded mid-thigh. Giving them a rough tug down, she pulled the legs free of first one foot and then the other, tossing them to the side.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she said huskily, hands sliding up the inside of Scribbs’ thighs. And then she was pushing into her from behind and Scribbs whimpered, the sudden fullness nearly causing her knees to give way. Her fingers splayed wide against the wood of the door as Ash began to thrust, her free hand running up and down the length of Scribbs’ spine, nails scoring her skin with faint red lines. The delicious bite of pain made Scribbs moan deep in her throat, hips pushing back to meet Ash, feet shifting slightly to spread her legs wider.

Ash’s nails dug in particularly deep at the move, leaving four stinging trails of fire up her back. They continued up past the nape of her neck and into her now sweat-drenched hair. Gripping fiercely, Ash pulled Scribbs’ head back, leaning forward over Scribbs' back to kiss her – she bit with sharp teeth, soothed with the wet comfort of her tongue, and licked a soft trail over the roof of Scribbs' mouth.

She disappeared with another stinging bite to Scribbs’ shoulder, her hand leaving Scribbs’ hair to come around and cup a breast, fingers tightening on Scribbs’ nipple until the pressure straddled the border between pleasure and pain. Now moaning almost continuously, Scribbs’ thrust back shamelessly against Ash’s fingers, and Ash watched as Scribbs’ skin bloomed red, as her thighs tensed and shook, as her spine arched into a concave valley. Her head tipped back and to the side, profile visible as her mouth opened around a sharp cry, lashes heavy against her cheek. Her nostrils flared once, then again, and then she stiffened, Ash’s name echoing through the foyer on a choked cry.

With a smirk of satisfaction, Ash pumped her fingers gently a few times more before removing them. She wrapped her arm around Scribbs’ upper chest again, again pulling her to a standing position before spinning her around and pushing her once more, this time with much more care, into the door. She kissed her hard, delighting in Scribbs’ helpless whimper, then slid deliberately down onto her knees. Her hands supporting the curves of Scribbs’ ass once again, she pulled her hips forward and ran her tongue through the thick, sweetly tart wetness between Scribbs' legs.

“Christ, Ash,” Scribbs hissed, fingers clenching convulsively in Ash's dark hair. “Stop. I can’t even bloody stand anymore.”

And in keeping with her words, Scribbs began to slide slowly down the wood of the door, knees crumpling as her free hand searched blindly for purchase. Ash watched her, eyes dark and hooded, until she had finally reached the floor. Then she smiled predatorily, used her grip to drag Scribbs further into the hall, and resumed what she had been doing the moment before.

“I mean it,” Scribbs gasped wildly, palm slapping sharply against the door above her head, hips pumping up despite her words. “I can’t… You can’t… Oh god, Ash.” Her heart was already racing, having not yet fully recovered from her orgasm of only moments before, and judging by the way Ash was applying suction and tongue in equal measure, it wasn’t going to stop doing so any time soon.

Ash ignored Scribbs’ entreaties. Stretched out on her belly on the hard wood floor of her foyer, she used her tongue to explore every inch of flesh her fingers had just owned. Scribbs’ fingers were in her hair, pulling, tugging it free of the binds of her bun, and she growled, shaking it loose.

“Come on,” she said moments later, pulling away from Scribbs’ flesh with a wet pop. “One more time. Scream for me.”

When her lips returned with unerring accuracy, Scribbs did just that. Her words were a jumbled heap of begs and pleas, mixed in with an occasional entreaty to Ash, Kate and god, in that order. Her hips bucked uncontrollably, forcing Ash to wrap her arms around Scribbs' thighs to hold her still, and her head slammed back into the flooring with a loud smack.

She ended with a whimpered, “Ash,” chest heaving, mind separated completely from her body. And then, with a soft sigh, she let herself fall immediately to sleep.

******

Scribbs awoke on the cold, hard floor of the foyer. A blanket had been tucked around her and a pillow had been eased beneath her head, but every inch of her body ached nonetheless.

“The neighbors must’ve loved that,” she muttered, sitting up with a groan. The blanket slipped down to her lap and she shivered slightly, the air a bit more chill than she would have liked. Struggling to her feet, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders once more, clenching it together in the front, and padded through the flat in search of the absent Ash.

She found her in the darkened kitchen, sitting silently at the table, a half-glass of wine on the table before her. Her eyes flicked up, and she watching Scribbs approach warily.

“I’m sorry about that,” she muttered as Scribbs eased into a chair sitting opposite her, the look in her eyes conveying the unsaid, ‘About everything.’

“Don’t be,” Scribbs said absently, reaching for Ash’s glass and taking a sip. “I’ve never been so thoroughly…” she trailed off, squinting, searching for the appropriate word, “managed before in my life. I wouldn’t mind if we made it a standing Thursday tradition.”

Tone full of self-hatred, Ash said, “I was rather stupidly trying to punish you.”

“If that was punishment, then I’d love to see what you might come up with for reward.”

“Scribbs,” Ash said bitterly, sinking back further in her chair, “you look like you should be in casualty.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Scribbs scoffed, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of the wine. “I’m famished, by the way.”

Ash pushed back from the table with a sigh. When she’d realized that Scribbs had fallen asleep in the foyer, she’d tried briefly to rouse her. She’d been met with an irritable, sleepy glare and a, “Shove off, Ash. I’m tired now.” And then Scribbs had curled up onto her side, one arm outstretched and pillowing her head, and Ash had gotten a good look at what she’d done. Scribbs’ body was littered with a criss-crossed hatch mark of light scratches. Bluish bruises and angry red marks fanned across her hips and appeared in small crescents and irregular ovals on her neck and chest and her lips were swollen and puffy.

“What would you like?”

For a moment, Scribbs’ brow crinkled in confusion. “To eat, you mean?”

“You did say you were hungry.”

“You’re going to make me something to eat?” Scribbs asked dumbly, nonplussed.

Clearly reaching the end of some inner tether, Ash snapped, “Scribbs.”

“A sandwich is fine,” Scribbs said hurriedly. “It’d be wonderful, actually.”

Ash seemed to visibly recall herself back into calm. She moved across the kitchen with an unhurried grace that seemed almost surreal, the interior light from the refrigerator casting a soft glow around her as she opened the door, bottles rattling. “There's some roasted chicken,” she called out, “but only whole wheat bread.”

“Pickles, mustard and a slice of cheese and I’ll be set, then,” Scribbs said with a smile, standing. She shuffled over to the counter on bare feet, facing Ash from the other side, and tilted her head to the side assessingly. “Is this some sort of Stepford wives thing?”

Ash glanced up sharply, knife frozen in the midst of cutting Scribbs’ quickly prepared sandwich in half.

“First you shag me senseless then you fix me a snack,” Scribbs continued, indicating the plate with a nod of her head. “If I opened you up, would I find wires and circuitry?”

“This isn’t funny,” Ash said roughly, shoving the plate across to where Scribbs was standing and spinning around, once again throwing open the door to the refrigerator. She bent over slightly, searching for something apparently located in the far back, and Scribbs took advantage of the moment to leer openly at the tight fit of Ash's trousers.

A moment later, a small bottle of Aranciata appeared before her, cap already removed, and Scribbs carefully wiped the leer from her face and took a bite of her post-coital snack.

“Don’t turn this into a thing, Ash,” she warned, swallowing the last of her first bite, naked body visible in the shadows of the blanket she was still wearing. “So you got a little jealous. Believe me, I didn’t mind.”

“My behavior was unconscionable,” Ash muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the refrigerator, falling mostly into darkness.

“No regrets now,” Scribbs chided, licking away a dollop of mustard that had made it onto her thumb. “I just spread myself for you like a back alley slapper, and I’m not having any. And quite frankly, that’s the more embarrassing side of that little configuration, don’t you think? Screaming like a banshee in the foyer while your girlfriend turns you into a puddle of goo.”

“It was positively unseemly.”

Scribbs sighed. “I think you’re focusing on the unimportant parts of this.”

“Oddly enough, I’m having the same thought.”

Scribbs slid off of her chair, blanket falling to the floor, and moved to stand in front of Ash. She wrapped her arms loosely around Ash’s waist, and placed a soft kiss on her jaw. “The point,” she said, slipping her hands around to the front of Ash’s trousers and slyly undoing the button, “is that I’m thinking of giving Clive a call. Would you like to talk me out of it?”

Ash looked down with a glare that faded slowly at the look of mingled love and lust being directed up her way. Added to it was a mischievous grin; she had only a moment’s warning before Scribbs’ fingers slipped into her underwear and into the wetness between her thighs.

“Or if you like,” Scribbs added as her fingers started tracing light circles over Ash’s clit, “we can discuss my irrational jealousy when it comes to you and Sullivan.” She paused, her grin deepening. “We could make a list of grievances. I know how you like lists.”

Ash sighed. “Do you really think this is a healthy way to go about things?”

“Ash, I don’t even have Frasier’s number. I binned it straightaway. Doesn’t mean I haven’t been naughty.”

At a sudden shift in the angle of Scribbs’ fingers, Ash hissed and wrapped an arm around Scribbs’ waist for balance. “Very well,” she said reluctantly. “Sullivan did say my new blazer was quite smart.”

Scribbs grinned and tugged Ash down for a hard kiss. “Is that so?” she asked, sliding over to Ash’s ear. She bit down sharply on Ash’s earlobe, and shivered at Ash’s moan. “Why don't you tell me more.”


End file.
